


Bright Eyes, Copper Paint

by Sailing_the_Skies



Category: Pact - Wildbow
Genre: Bright Eyed, Bright Fall | High Fall, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Spoopy Halloween Fanfic Exchange, magical addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27322672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailing_the_Skies/pseuds/Sailing_the_Skies
Summary: A young woman buys something from the Fae.
Relationships: OC/OC
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Bright Eyes, Copper Paint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegreatersea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatersea/gifts).



Charlotte walked around the fountain, clutching a flyer in her hands. A statue of a woman raised her arms to the air, water rising from her palms. She had a mournful look on her weathered green face. It was the fourth fountain that Charlotte been to today, and she was considering giving up.

The flyer promised a street sale somewhere “behind the weeping fountain on Fourth Ave.” It had a small, handdrawn map in the bottom corner, but the ink had smudged, making it useless. That was why Charlotte had been forced to walk up and down the entirety of Fourth Ave, looking for fountains.

She wished that Noah was with her. He didn’t enjoy bargain hunting nearly as much as Charlotte did, but normally he was happy to explore the city with her. This week, though, he was stuck in the library cramming for his midterms. Seeing the dark circles under his eyes made Charlotte eternally grateful that she hadn’t gone into engineering.

A glint of copper caught her eye. She turned her head, and saw a man sitting near a table covered with miscellaneous objects. Dark curls tumbled down his face, highlighted to that gorgeous copper color by the sunlight. His eyes were green, like Noah’s, but had a more mischievous cast to them. His clothing was loose and casual, drawing attention to all the right spots.

Her first thought was, _jackpot!_

Her second thought was, _wow, he’s hot._

Charlotte crossed over to the tables, ready to look at the wares. “Here to buy?” the man said. He smiled, and it was a _nice_ smile.

“Just looking,” Charlotte said, with a shrug. There was no reason to tell him how many hours she’d spent looking for this sale. If she seemed desperate, that would make it harder to haggle later. “My name’s Charlotte. What’s yours?”

“You can call me Timothée,” he said.

The left side of the table was filled with jewelry -- fine golden necklaces mixed in with rings with garishly large gems, exquisitely crafted earrings alongside marbled plastic hairpieces. It was an odd mix of highbrow and lowbrow. Charlotte picked up an ouroboros ring, placing it experimentally around her finger, but it was too small for her and the snake’s teeth poked into her skin. She set it back down.

There weren’t any prices listed anywhere, which was a good sign. The middle of the table held some vintage comic books, wrapped up in plastic and surrounded by cheerfully waving Maneki Neko cat figurines. Issues 5.4, 8.9, and 16.3 of Worm. Noah said that the comics were way better than the movies, and that Worm: Journey of a Hero had butchered the original story, but in Charlotte’s opinion, at least the movies had a happy ending, which made them infinitely better than the source material.

At the very end of the table was a gouache set, and a cup of brushes. Charlotte opened up the gouache set. It had 18 different colors, each in their own rectangular pan, with a space to mix colors for herself if she wanted to. It looked like it had new. The brushes all had a similar design, with a wooden handle, brown hairs with dark red tips, and a copper piece holding them together. The points on the round brushes were so sharp they looked like they could draw blood.

Charlotte had an on-again, off-again relationship with art. She did a lot of pencil sketches, and dabbled with watercolor sometimes, and had a singular attempt at ceramics which had ended with her piece exploding in the kiln. She wasn't anywhere near professional-level, but she’d been looking to get more into it lately. This would be perfect for that.

“That’s made with Kolinsky sable hair. You’ll have a hard time finding brushes of this quality anywhere else,” Timothée said.

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. So he was now on the stage of personally convincing her to buy his things, huh? “Lots of places sell art supplies.”

“Ah, but do those places have what you're looking for?” he said.

“Depends on the price,” Charlotte said. She picked up the gouache set and three brushes, a medium round, a small round, and a large flat brush. “I’ll pay $30 for this.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “My dear, you have no idea what the true value of these are. One of those brushes alone is easily 10 times that price.”

“There's no way that's true. I can buy a paint brush off the internet for $2,” Charlotte said.

“Do you doubt my word?” he asked.

Charlotte shrugged. “You're trying to sell your stuff. You have a lot of reasons to talk it up.”

“I assure you, I am not lying. Materials of this caliber are difficult to get. The sale of Kolinsky sable hair is strictly regulated. There are certificates, to prove that none of it was gathered illegally.”

“$50,” Charlotte said.

“That is nowhere near a fair price,” he said. “You would have better luck if you raised that to $900.”

Alright, she couldn't win this. She put two of the brushes back into their cup, and kept hold of the medium round and the gouache set. “I only have $80 in my wallet, she said.”

“These items are best experienced together,” Timothée said. “But if you wish, you may have the paint for $40.”

From Charlotte's experience shopping in Michaels, that was a fair enough price. “$35,” she countered.

“$39.”

“$37.”

“$38.”

“$37, nothing more or less.”

“$37.50,” he said.

In the end, they settled on $37.26. Charlotte handed over the amount in exact change. “Thank you,” she said. It was always good to be polite after a sale.

“You are very welcome,” he said, smiling in a way that made it hard to ignore his cute dimples.

She left to go back to campus.

* * *

Charlotte dipped her brush into water, and pulled it across the paper to create a light wash. She went back and forth across the entire page, until it was covered in a pale blue. Then, she loaded her brush up with viridian green, and let the wet paint bloom over the paper. She let the paper dry for a bit, then started blocking in a face.

The gouache set was more versatile than she ever could have imagined. She’d heard that gouache combined the advantages of watercolor and acrylic, but she hadn’t realized how much of an improvement it would be. She’d gone from basic shading to full-on realism overnight.

Her brushes were a cheap synthetic set, purchased for a little under $10, but they got the job done.

A pair of hands clasped around her shoulders. “Gotcha!”

Charlotte whirled around. “Noah! I'm painting.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Noah was long and lanky, with a height that most guys would envy. He was always clean-shaven and kept his hair swept back, making him look several years younger than he actually was. Today, he was wearing his comfort t-shirt, the Skitter one that he always put on before a big test.

Charlotte smiled. “How did exams go?”

Noah's face took on a long-suffering look. “I totally bombed it. The first few questions were okay, but then I forgot the Law of Cosines and I had to rederive it for number 4, which took so much time. I’m such an idiot.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“I _am_ ,” he moaned.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Fine, have it your way. You’re the smartest idiot I know.”

“I’m going to go out with Sam and Daniel to celebrate getting midterms over with,” Noah said. “Wanna come with us?”

“When?” Charlotte asked.

“Now,” Noah said.

Charlotte made a face. “I can't. I’m trying to finish this commission.” She waved at the painting in front of her, which was starting to take the shape of a woman looking out over the ocean.

“Woah, someone commissioned you?” Noah asked.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised. I’m not actually bad at art,” Charlotte said, with a flair of irritation.

“Sorry,” Noah said. “Didn’t mean to imply that.”

“It’s fine,” Charlotte said.

Noah’s phone chimed. He looked at it briefly, and then put it away. “I have to go now. See you later!” he said.

"Have fun," Charlotte said.

He hugged Charlotte quickly and left.

* * *

“Alright, where are we going today?” Noah asked.

“The weeping fountain on 4th Ave,” Charlotte said absently. “I know that it’s been a while, but I want to go there again.”

She fingered her wallet, which she’d stuffed full of crisp 20 and 100 dollar bills from the ATM on a whim. She’d made a startling amount of money off of commissions and prints lately. Enough to import a full set of Kolinsky sable brushes from Europe, if she wanted. Charlotte didn't want a set of Kolinsky sable brushes from Europe. She wanted the set that she had seen and the yard sale. With the gouache set, she could capture light and color so well that people sometimes thought the scenes she painted were real, but it wasn’t enough. She was capable of so much more.

“Wherever you lead, I'll follow,” Noah said.

“That is soooo not true,” Charlotte said, with a teasing tone to take the sting out of it. “Remember that huge bridge in Germany? You refused to follow me there.”

Noah shuddered. “Threats to my life and sanity don’t count.”

“You’re studying civil engineering, shouldn’t you know how safe these things are?”

“Yeah, but nowadays we use steel for suspension bridges. Not _rope_. That thing _swayed_ , Char.” Noah said.

They were so busy talking that they barely noticed the paved streets transitioning to copper-lined cobblestone, or the ivy that crept over the buildings here. At last, they reached the fountain of the sad woman.

“We’re here,” Charlotte said.

Noah frowned. “This place looks kind of creepy.”

Once again, Charlotte circled around the fountain. This time, there was nobody selling things. Her heart sank. On one hand, she’d expected this -- yard sales never lasted this long, and there was no reason to expect a new sale in the same place -- but on the other hand --

A man in an artfully ragged hoodie stepped out from an alleyway. “Here to buy again, miss?”

It was him. Even though he was wearing different things, the copper tone of his hair in the sunlight was the same, and so was the deep green of his eyes.

“Hi,” Charlotte said.

Noah unsubtly shuffled closer and placed his arm around Charlotte's waist. “Who are you?”

Normally she would have appreciated the backup, but here it was just annoying.

“Your assistance appears unwelcome, don’t you think? You are an intruder to this discussion, and I don’t need to explain myself to someone like you,” Timothée said.

The wind picked up, blowing debris through the air. Noah’s face contorted, but he stayed silent.

“Now, let’s go on with the current matter at hand,” Timothée said.

Charlotte peeled Noah’s arm off of her. “I'm back for the brushes,” she said, the words suddenly tumbling from her mouth. “Starting offer at $850.”

Timothée languidly pulled out a set of brushes from his hoodie pocket, looking them over. Charlotte’s eyes seized on them. Before, she’d thought that they had been merely high quality, but now she knew better -- these were made with master craftsmanship, not a single detail out of place. The copper in them shone brightly. With the gouache alone, she’d gone to professional level overnight. What could she do with these brushes?

“$1,000,” Timothée said.

“That’s way more than anything you said last time,” Charlotte protested.

“Prices change. Supply goes down, demand goes up. That's the way of life around here.”

“$900,” Charlotte said. “$900 or I walk away.”

Timothée waved the brush set, and again Charlotte’s eyes snapped to them. “Would you really?”

She tried to imagine that. Leaving this place with Noah, sticking with only the gouache set alone. Never feeling the full capabilities of the paired set.

“$1000,” she conceded, with a bitter taste in her mouth. She took out her wallet and counted out the money.

He held out the brushes, and Charlotte snatched them from his hands.

“Your partner should be able to speak to you again once you leave this location. For convenience, he won’t remember any of this transaction. Have a nice day.”

Charlotte looked at Noah, and noticed for the first time his increasingly reddening face. He was so still that it looked like he was being held by a straitjacket, but nothing was binding him. How could she have ignored this? Charlotte felt a horrible stab of guilt for trying to buy things while Noah was stuck like this, paralyzed.

_“What did you do to him?”_

“I reminded him of his manners,” Timothée said.

That explained absolutely nothing. Charlotte wanted to rage at Timothée for doing this, but there was nothing stopping him from doing the same to her. She had to get out of here.

Charlotte took Noah’s hands in hers. “I shouldn’t have taken you here. It’s my fault. This had nothing to do with you, Noah. I’ll make it up to you, somehow.”

Noah couldn’t move by himself, but Charlotte could move him -- he didn’t have that much bulk on him, despite his height. She dragged him a few streets over. When they reached the end of the cobblestone roads, Noah started walking again.

“Sorry, I blanked out for a bit,” he said. “What were you saying?”

“Nothing important. It’s fine,” Charlotte said.

Her hand dropped to her newly purchased brush set, safely tucked away in her pocket, and she tried to push away the sinking feeling in her stomach.

* * *

“Hey Charlotte,” Noah said. “I haven't seen you in a while.”

Charlotte kept her eyes on the paper in front of her, still looking at her work. “I'm painting,” she snapped.

“Yeah,” Noah said. “You've been doing a lot of that lately.”

Charlotte dipped her brush into burnt sienna, and added shadows to the face of the woman she was painting. She considered it for a moment, and modulated it with some ultramarine blue. In the fading afternoon light, the paper almost looked copper.

If her work before had been hyperrealistic, now it supplanted reality. People routinely confused the subjects of her paintings for real people, places, and things. There had even been one case where a viewer had been so attracted to the man in her painting that he had tried to make out with it. That was when curators had decided to display her works behind glass casings.

“When was the last time you left the studio?” Noah asked. “Have you eaten today? We could go out for dinner.”

Charlotte kept painting. “Maybe Starbucks. That would be way faster.”

“That’s not the point, Char. You need a break.”

“I have a gallery showing next Tuesday,” Charlotte said. “I can’t just _stop_.”

“Come on, you know this isn't healthy. I’ve asked your roommates, they say that you get back to your apartment later and later each night. You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, you’re not responding to anybody’s texts.”

Charlotte thought about the gouache under her eyes, which she’d put on to conceal her ever-darkening eyebags. It was more effective than makeup at making her look well-rested.

“I’m sleeping enough,” she said.

She submerged her brush in water and shook it, rinsing off the paint. Then she switched to a smaller one.

“Charlotte. Look at me. Please.”

Charlotte looked up. Noah looked like he was on the verge of tears. His normally well-groomed hair was unkempt. “I’m happy that you’re doing well with your art, but you can’t -- you can’t just ignore everything else. You need a work-life balance.” His voice hitched, but he kept going, slowly, calmly. Almost calmly enough for Charlotte not to notice Noah gently pulling the brush from her hands.

Charlotte closed her fist tightly around it. “Leave. Now.”

“Charlotte --”

She flicked the brush, letting copper paint splatter across Noah’s eyes. “Leave.”

“Ow! Fuck, ow, what did you do to me? Charlotte, you’re not acting like yourself!”

She rose from her chair to shove him outside. Noah flailed blindly, but Charlotte had always been able to push him around, and it wasn't that hard to get him out of the studio. For good measure, she tipped over a table to make sure that the door couldn’t be opened.

Charlotte went back to painting.

* * *

Charlotte made more paintings. Did more commissions. Won more awards. It should have felt good. It did. But there was one nagging thorn in her consciousness.

Noah.

Even after pushing him out of the studio, he had still tried to help her. Knocking on the door and leaving a meal from the cafeteria behind. Texting her at 3 AM in the morning telling her to sleep. Sliding in the business cards of counselors, therapists, and most insultingly, addiction experts.

He should have a girlfriend that was every bit as devoted to him as he was to her, and that couldn’t be Charlotte anymore. So she had to do something more permanent. She had to break that single, remaining connection of hers so thoroughly that he would never look back.

Charlotte looked at the sculpture that she had prepared. It had been difficult, venturing into the realm of 3D, where her mastery of gouache wasn’t enough to help her. In the end, she had created the form out of papier-mâché, and covered it with as much paint as possible to sell the illusion. When she turned her head just right, and squinted her eyes, it was covered with copper.

A life-sized rendering of her corpse.

It was made so convincingly that Charlotte could smell the stench of her dead body just by looking at it. Tragic and horrifying enough that nobody would look at it long enough to realize that it wasn’t decaying. Her corpse’s eyes stared up at the ceiling, unseeing.

For Noah’s sake, she made it look like an accident, and not a suicide. He would never be able to move on if he thought that he could’ve stopped it. Instead, he would think that she had slipped and hit her head against the steel rim of the sink.

This was the only way.

She would re-enter the art world under a different name, and a different style. Maybe multiple different styles. Each persona would be reclusive and shy, unwilling or unable to attend gallery showings in person.

She’d never see Noah again. Or Sam or Daniel, or her roommates Leah and Zinnia, or any of her teachers, or her family. It was the only way to keep up the ruse.

Silent tears ran down her cheeks, but Charlotte painted them away.

She left the studio for the last time as herself.

* * *

“$900 for the total set,” she said.

“That's way too much,” the girl standing opposite of her protested. She was a plump young thing, with clothing that flattered her form. A grey beret topped her head.

“Take it or leave it,” the woman sitting behind the table said. Her fingers were stained with paint that had never washed out.“You might not have an opportunity like this again.”

The girl looked more hesitant. “Maybe just the paint set, then,” she said.

The woman closed her eyes, suppressing the rush of past memories, when she had been on the other side of the table. It was easier when she didn’t think about that. The glamour stuck better.

When she opened her eyes again, they were a bright copper hue.

“Deal."


End file.
